


We Move Lightly

by worldengine



Series: Fourteen Days [2]
Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ruins, Tragedy, minor language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:59:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldengine/pseuds/worldengine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lois wakes to Clark leaving.</p><p>***Updated 8/15/14 – Added a few hundred words, fixed some errors. Not much difference, but still wanted to let everyone know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Move Lightly

**Author's Note:**

> Could be considered Chapter 2 in "Why'd It Have to Be Me?" but I want to do a series of days, post-Man of Steel.

Something moves beside me. At the same time that's happened, a pressing weight is lifted away from the very center of me. I fight against opening my eyes but then there it is again, this slight, tentative movement. So subtle does it seem, that I will it to be but a dream. I want to pretend that it's not...what I believe it to be.

Soft sounds come then; a clasp clicking into place, a scratch of a nail against impenetrable fabric. Then the telltale signs of a zipper being, well, zipped. 

I finally force myself to confront reality and of course it's him, and he's leaving. This miracle man who I've only known for the better part of two months is here, in my apartment, in my bedroom. 

My exhausted eyes find their focus and I can see that he's making every effort to quietly exit; I wonder if he would have woken me or just left? I gaze over at the side table nearest the bed and breathe out dejectedly. We've slept only an hour and ten minutes. He's slept maybe ten more than that, but I know, _I know_ it wasn't nearly enough. Not from all he's been through. Besides, the sun has already set so his chances to regain any strength that's been lost will have to wait until morning.

Besides that, I want him to stay.

While a part of me wishes this from a purely selfish place, I am actually worried about his safety. I can admit as much. 

"Are you okay... enough? I mean, to go back out there and help?" I ask, because I'm certain this is where he means to fly away to. My voice sounds as though sandpaper were dragged down the rear of my tongue but with all the dust and particulates filling the air, it's really no wonder.

He turns around to look at me and smiles ever-so...and my heart feels as if it's fallen ten stories by the hurt that now lives there. He– _Clark_ –is just as guilt-ridden now than he was not two hours before, if not more so.

"I have to help with the rescue efforts. I nev–I never should have slept. People might have died and I cou--" I all but leap from the bed we've only just shared to go to him. Both of my hands are cradling his jaw, forcing him to see nothing but me.

"Don't. Don't do this to yourself, Kent. You, you could have died. With all you went through today?" I try to gain purchase by reasoning with him but I know it's a nothing more than a futile attempt at sparing any further self-ridicule. No words come, though there's an air of tension building within these four walls.

I slide closer to him, this amazing man of steel, and the two of us stand firm by the closed bedroom door. I clasp one of his hands into mine and resolve any lingering selfishness, "you be safe out there? I don't-" I choke suddenly as a rush of emotion floods, forcing my head to lower-"I don't want to hear that Superman fell victim to any residual Krypton-planet crap, okay?"

At some point during my-probably-unnecessary speech, Clark has taken hold of my face. Using his thumbs, my tears are wiped clean but instead of reveling in the contact, I feel downright silly. Though considering the complete and utter battle of the stars that happened earlier, I believe I'm a bit deserving of a breakdown. I'm only human after all.

It's also right then and there that I realize how deeply I care for him... already. He's–I never would have dropped a story for any other reason in the past, least of all after _one_ meeting with a subject under such intensive investigation. And from a conversation by a gravestone, no less.

My thoughts digress.

Clark lifts my face so that our eyes are now lined with each other's and I can't help it, I inhale deeper than I should. He seems to have an affect on various sorts of funny things like that.

"I'll come back, I promise. I just can't let people who could be alive, buried under tons of concrete and metal sta--I have to help them, Lois." I watch as his throat constricts and the muscles of his arms expand. His anguish has turned into desperation. He must go.

I nod and force a smile. It's pathetic and weak, I know, but it's better than dragging this out and keeping him longer (a thing I'd have no trouble doing, if the world hadn't nearly ended today, alas morals).

"You go. I'll be out there eventually tonight. I'm sure Perry has tried to get in touch, so I should–Go, _**go**_. You need to leave. See you soon, okay?"

He opens the bedroom door and is gone before I've processed the irrelevant question as to when the door had been shut in the first place. Odd.

I turn the TV on–it's mind blowing that I even _have_ power at my place–but there's no reception. I find only static staring back at me; my eyes roll and I shake my head, _'of course Lois, how could there be news on television. Everything in this city was damn near destroyed, including but not limited to radar stations and studio headquarters'_. I chew gently on my lower lip as I think and then–yes, I've got it! Resorting to antiquated methods, I drag an old radio out of my pantry (don't ask), and pray I can pick up a wire somewhere in this town. 

I do. WGBS is broadcasting via an affiliate in Gotham City and I'm thankful for the small stroke of luck I've been handed.

Until I hear the real-time reports. 

What a complete fucking mess we're all in: Deaths are in the hundreds of thousands, with early damage estimates in numbers too high to possibly be accurate. While yes, I had expected to hear this, all of it frightens me to the core, as if I've been run through with a unforgiving blade of truth. A nervous rush of energy embeds itself into my heart, and I place my palms over my face to stifle away a sob. I don't know if I'll be able to handle all that's happened once I have time to really process each and every part of it, I just don't know. So I resign myself to dealing with the emotional toll later; it's all I can do to keep moving forward. 

The static pops and cracks keep on emanating from the beaten, weather radio until the voice returns. I hear then about Superman and how he's saved nearly twenty-six people already, and the numbers keep rising. ...Wasn't he here only a few minutes ago? I feel a sense of pride wash over me but then thoughts of the future and of how nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , will ever be the same suddenly start to plague me. The life I knew? Gone. Replaced now with a world that has actual, real-time superheroes saving the day. Well, superber _o_. This isn't a bad thing to accept or even understand, merely a giant moment of change. Hell, I've embraced it over the last couple of weeks–even have a scar on my lower abdomen to prove this–but still, it is overwhelming, all things considered.

As I listen to the broadcast go in and out of range, I take notice of my surroundings: an index finger taps on top of the cherry-wood dining table I bought last summer in Naples, Florida and _oh_ , I'm holding my favorite pen–the one with a steel ball-point tip that's never failed me. I 

I acknowledge the not-so-subtle hint sent by my subconscious and damn near run back into the room for a quick change of clothes. Though I'd love to indulge in a steaming hot shower, now isn't the time. Unless Clark has a break, neither will I.

I know how ridiculous that sounds but I'm going to try my hardest to adhere to it. 

I'm out the door in five minutes, purposely using an abandoned stairwell considering an obvious lack of trust in Metropolis' structural engineering after the intense, local attack today. I have my black yoga pants on with a used, beat up pair of sneakers that have lived through easier days. The light jacket I've slipped over my shoulders, gray with white stripes down the arms, also falls into this very-used category. But its material is reflective and with the grid's sporadic power troubles, it might do me well with passing motorists. _If_ vehicles are even operable or allowed on the streets of downtown Metropolis. 

I don't know most of the details of what's going on out there and that's leaving me completely, wholly unsettled. 

So I sigh and attempt to focus. Clearly, now is not the time to concern myself with fashion or eloquence while on the job. As always, it's being on the beat that matters. Though looking around, there's nothing typical about today.

In the past my phone was always the go-to recording device, but I can't seem to find it or care even a little as to its whereabouts, so I resort to the famed pen and a pad of paper. Everything about this is old, and yet all is new to me. I don't know what I will come across or the things I will see, given the city's broken state of affairs. I know Metropolis is in hell right now, but I also know I won't give up on it. At least that has remained in tact. 

My feet hit shattered and splintered pavement and set out towards the epicenter of destruction – Ground Zero. By location guesstimates, I'm approximately 4 miles due east; figuring it will take the wealth of my energy to merely get there, on this night, in one piece, I crack my neck, double check my ink levels and go. 

Like Clark left, only marginally different. I mean, clearly I'm incapable of flight but so long as I don't sit home and twiddle these thumbs, I'm okay with my slower-than-Superman speed. 

As I walk and survey my surroundings, a surge of gratitude befalls me; not for the first time, my mind dwells over how incredibly lucky I am to have an undamaged home to return to. In the near future there's little question of me helping any residual locals – I will open my doors to them if they're here. 

Making goodwill pacts to help along my journey, if the situation present itself, has done an okay job of distracting me from crumbling beside the piles of concrete and pulverized glass. I think of how fleeting life is – an existential moment for me – and try to snap back into the here and now. The story must be told. It has to be shared and done so with respect and utmost integrity. 

The story of Metropolis and Superman. 

But then I remind myself that while getting the story is important, it's not _everything_. Finding survivors and assisting those that are in need is what truly, completely matters. 

God. I'm not the same Lois Lane I was yesterday. This near-end-of-the-world showdown and the man in blue has drawn more from me that I can ever hope to understand.

††††

Thirty minutes into my journey, I see glimmers of red and blue high above my head, but not much else in the way of Clark Kent. I smile inwardly at his reassuring presence and send up a quick word of encouragement, not fully convinced as to whether he may hear me or not. Other than that, it's mostly been a ghost walk so far.

I take a moment to judge and assess my location; mouth gaping, I fight against falling knee-first onto the cracked and decimated blacktop.

I'm only a mile and a half left to the hot zone and on the verge of going into shock; the area is upheaval: flattened, with cars and objects wholly unrecognizable. There are buildings that tilt precariously (Clark would kill me if he knew what I was up to) and sway threateningly, and it appear as if an entire city has been draped in shades of gray. 

I'm heartbroken. And then I come upon what used to be the incredibly busy and bustling avenue in which the Daily Planet called home, but...Broadway is dark tonight. There are no comings and goings, no taxis or meters running, only the quiet and stillness and a thick, acrid air lingering about.

...I should have brought a flashlight.

Looking skyward and using the glow of moonlight as my guide, I glimpse the top half of the Planet. It has sustained a sizable amount of structural redesigning, with nearly half of the globe severed in two. In other words, I won't have that office for a long time.

I berate myself: I'm alive and pray my coworkers are as well. Truth be told, I'm frightened to think otherwise, so I don't.

 _Perry_. If only there was a way to--

"What are you doing here, Lois? Are you crazy!?"

His voice cuts like a siren in the night and I know immediately it's not the stale wind giving me chills.

I turn around to see him standing there–he's bloodied but I know it's not from any personal injury done to him. I cringe a bit and take a step back, wondering what others horrors he's seen this night. 

"I--I wanted to see if I could find Perry or ...help, I don't know. Find and help the people in the heart of it. I couldn't sit at home and do nothing, Clark. I can't...not while you're out here and I'm still able-bodied."

I watch as Kent closes the distance between he and I but before I even know it's happened, two very big arms are encapsulating me. "I heard the sound of footfall and flew lower for a look, hoping you might have been a survivor. Lois-there's... no one left–no one at the epicenter of the beam. The only ones I've found alive were nearly two miles out from there. I'm only recovering bod--only remains now."

I feel the heat from is breath as it moves through my hair; as he speaks I'm unable to cease my exhausted eyes from sealing themselves shut. I hear his words, the torment and sadness but I'm fighting delirium. The thought that could sleep right here, right now for a week occurs. But no, I refuse to give in, not when there is so much ...death surrounding the pair of us. 

This heartache is unfathomable.

"Let me take you home. If I locate Perry or any of the others, I'll let you know, first thing. But until then, you're only going to get yourself killed out here tonight and I can't-Lois I"–Clark pauses as he works up strength enough to continue, "...please let me carry you back. To your home, please."

His tone is darker than I've grown used to and the order is final, I know that. Yet, there is affection to his demands and it runs as deep as my own. I want to emote happiness over this fact but, absolutely no, that will come later. Hopefully.

I think then of how pointless my near-four mile journey has been, wondering if it wasn't adrenaline that sent me out into the night; on my search for phantoms and forgotten ideals, I've discovered a nothingness has taken over this physical part of the city. There was never going to be any story other than the one we're all living. And besides, who would I have told it to...and how? Perhaps WGBS would have garnered me a guest spot but--"Lois?"

I swallow and shake my head. How foolish, how insensitive...but it is my job...and how I cope. I understood it now – this wasn't the time nor place for a shark reporter like Lois Lane. Clark is right, I'd only end up dead–I would have been a part of Superman's recovery story, thus ultimately serving no purpose.

Wrapping my arms around his strong neck, in silence I wait for us to lift off this wrecked part of earth and go home. He smells of humanity's sweat and blood and I long so deeply to wash him of all that's happened, so much so that this becomes the foremost thought in my mind. I know this won't happen tonight, maybe not for a week or even a month, but eventually I will help heal his soul...and my own. I only pray he's open to me. Or even willing.

We fly slower than earlier and I hate the reasons that run through my mind as to why this might be. It implies and directly hints at the incredible loss of life that has taken place; Superman is needed now, but only for his ability to remove rubble or recover any life that has since been taken. Urgency has been revoked. 

Just how long did my walk take me? Doesn't matter. "How...how many people have you saved, Clark? Did you find many?"

He sets me down on the small ledge to 1939 West 6th like before, and I wait for him to speak. "523. I've ...I've flown over, under and through the entire city about the same number of times but haven't detected either the flicker of a heartbeat or any biologics in the last thirty minutes. I--I think-"

I place a hand over his lips and one on the nape of his neck, "you did all you could. You did everything. Five-hundred and twenty-three people are now alive because of you. They have a chance, because of _you_."

He drops his head and I drop my hands. They're shaking now, my fingers and forearms, but I'm not completely sure I know why.

Clark gazes up but not at me. I stare nervously at his quieted form and watch as his eyes roam around the darkened city skyline. "I did this... This is because of me." That voice cracks at the end and I reach for him, knowing what's coming, but I'm too late.

He's gone.

I yell out into the dust-laden air, but he doesn't return this night. Or for the next nine.


End file.
